I close the book on herbalism. “What was that spell for?”
“I rolled my ankle this morning walking down the steps of Morgana Hall.”
I wince. “Did you have to walk all the way back here on it?”
“Actually, I borrowed a witch’s broom and flew back here, and honestly, Selene, we’ve got to do this together…” She takes me in. “What happened to you?”
“Is it really that obvious?” I say, touching my cheek. But it must be—even I can hear the broken notes of my voice.
“What’s wrong?” she says instead, her voice growing alarmed. “I can smell smoke on you.”
I reach a hand down for Nero, grounding myself with his presence. “There’s a lot I haven’t told you,” I admit. I take a deep breath. “What I’m about to tell you is for your ears only.”
Sybil frowns. “Okay, now I’m really worried, Selene. What haven’t you told me?”
I share it all—everything from the spell circle gone awry to Memnon saving me. I tell her about him helping seal off the tunnel entrance—
“I didn’t even know there were tunnels,” she cuts in.
“I’ll show you it sometime,” I say softly before continuing.
I tell her about how I found out I was a soul mate. A tear drips down my cheek when I admit exactly who I’m bonded to.
“What!” Merlin flaps his wings at Sybil’s outburst, then flashes me an owlish glare, like it’s my fault I upset his witch.
I press on, mentioning how Memnon turned on me and burned my books, and I finish with my meeting with the high priestess and being on the Politia’s suspect list.
By the time I’m done, my cheeks are wet again.
For a long moment, Sybil is silent. Finally, she whispers, “I am so sorry, Selene.”
She pulls me into a hug then, and I lean into her, crying into her shoulder as she rubs my back.
“And to think my day sucked because I have a sprained ankle.”
“I’m sure the sprained ankle sucked,” I say, sniffling a little.
My friend laughs. “It did hurt like a bitch,” she says as she continues rubbing my back. “But then I got to ride a broomstick—I even cackled for the sheer hell of it.”
I let out a sad little laugh at that. “I’m pretty sure you have to cackle when you’re flying on a broomstick,” I say, pulling away to wipe at my tears. “It’s part of the rules.”
Sybil smiles at that, but it quickly disappears. “Honestly, Selene, I don’t even know where to start with this one, except that, babe, that was a crap ton of secrets.”
I laugh again, even though I know she’s saying this just to lighten the moment.
She reaches out and tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. “I know you’re innocent.”
I pull away to look miserably at her. “I don’t think I can prove it,” I admit.
“I’ll help you,” she says. “I’ll ask the other coven sisters if they saw you at the times in question. We’ll make a new notebook for you and create a timeline, one that I am sure will clear your name.”
“You’d do that?” I’m so used to winging it on my own that I forgot I have people in my life willing to help me.
“You’re my best friend, Selene. Of course I will. Now,” she says, her tone changing, “forget about the Politia and that case for a minute. I want to chat about Memnon.” She says his name menacingly.
“Ugh.” I place my face in my hands, trying to wish away my life.
What hurts the most is that before he burned my notebooks, I had actually started to fall for him. I caught glimpses of what it would be to care and be cared for by a man like Memnon.
You and I, Empress, we are eternal.
But then he wanted me to hurt like him, to be lost and confused in this modern world just like him. His vengeance eclipsed whatever feelings he has for me.
Sybil rubs my back. “So you’re bonded to a fucking loser. If he wants to be enemies, let’s make him pay.”
I lift my head from my hands, my magic rising.
Yes.
“Listen,” she says, seeing my interest, “this bastard is your soul mate. He may be the dirtiest rim job out there, but he is fated to you, which means the guy is basically walking around with a hard-on every time he sees you.
“So you and I are going to find some killer dresses, we’re going to go to the ball, and you’re going to enjoy the fuck out of yourself in front of that bastard. Bonus points for flirting and dancing with every mage who’s up for it.
“He’ll see what he’s missing, and it will be him who comes groveling back to you.”
I stare at her.
And then I smile.
CHAPTER 40
Let’s make him pay.
That thought sticks to me like a barb through the weekend and into the following week.
It’s there when I forget I have a coffee date with one of the witches in my wards class, and it’s there when I miss turning in an assignment for spellcasting. I cling to the promise of vengeance every time I see Politia officers on campus, interviewing witches or examining cordoned-off sections of the woods. I reassure myself of it after each weird look a coven sister casts my way, and I bask in the thought of it when Sybil and I go shopping for dresses in San Francisco.
The problem is, the longer I muse on Sybil’s plan, the more I realize…it’s not settling my demons.
Not by half.
I think of all the burned books—years of life and work meticulously documented—and how the sorcerer relished destroying them. Then I think of how he attacked Kane in my room and how he’s repeatedly threatened me.
Despite Memnon’s wicked tongue and the budding thing we had between us, he has made it clear since the beginning that we are enemies. And what have I done to stop him?
Nothing.
And now my revenge is supposed to be wearing a sexy dress and giving other men attention in some bid to make Memnon jealous? It’s laughably pathetic, and I’m far too bloodthirsty to settle for that.
I need to make the man truly pay. But how?
Wednesday evening, I sit sprawled out in one of the wingback chairs in my house’s library, Nero at my feet, as I rub my lower lip and muse over my situation.
Right over my heart, I can sense my devilish bond thrum with life. Unfortunately, I’ve been noticing this bond more and more since I accepted that I’m Memnon’s soul mate. Just giving it this small amount of attention is enough for me to feel the sorcerer on the other side of it.
Whatever he’s doing, he’s some combination of pleased and impatient.
Smug bastard.
Little witch, are you poking around my mind? Memnon’s voice is soft like velvet in my head.
Crap, I forgot that he can sense me too.
I ignore him and the way his words stroke me from the inside out.
I can taste your frustration, he says. Are you desperate yet?
Screw you. I shove the words down our bond.
Is that a legitimate offer? Because if it is, I’ll have to think about it.
Goddess, but I hate him.
I feel his amusement as his presence retreats from our bond, and I’m alone once more—or as alone as I can be now that I’m connected to another.
That’s the heart of the issue—being bonded to him.
Being bonded…
Can…soul mate bonds be broken?
The thought makes my breath catch.